


Alma Mater

by casstayinmyass



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Crush, F/M, Gen, Inappropriate Erections, Murder, Showers, Taxidermy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27213853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: A Sister steals the Church’s family inheritance, goes on the run, and checks into a remote motel run by an odd man named Copia.
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Original Female Character(s) (one sided)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: Scary Stories To Tell In The Abbey





	Alma Mater

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome Siblings, to our third day of SCARY STORIES! *wolf howl* 
> 
> Today, I bring you a shocking tale that will get under your skin... and if it doesn't, a knife in the shower should do the trick! Huddle in with your friends and enjoy. Is that a thunderstorm I hear brewing?
> 
> Please be advised, this tale contains reference to sexual arousal and alludes to incestual undertones.

The getaway was supposed to be clean; the wayward Sister had planned everything down to a tee. She would wake up just before midnight before prayer began for those who wished to attend at that Unholy Hour, and creep into the vault Papa Nihil had safeguarded. While everyone else was asleep in their beds or praying to the Olde One, Sister Helena would be making away with the Emeritus heirlooms, hours away from the large, looming church. That is, before she grew sleepy and almost drove off the road.

As she would attract unwanted attention weaving along the road like a drunk, Helena realized she had to find a place to sleep for the night. She considered for a moment sleeping in her car off the side of the road... but then, cops were always obligated to check those, for it could have been a wreck. Muttering a curse, Helena ripped off her habit and continued along the quiet road in search of the first lights she saw. Finally at half past 12, she found one. Pulling in, she made sure the sign was lit up to display a "vacancy"— at this point, she would put to good use the first of the seven sins she had learned back at the church to secure somewhere discreet to rest for the night.

Evidently this was unnecessary, as the sign welcomed her in with a promise of cheap rooms and good service.

Helena got out of the car she had stolen too. She grabbed the sack out of the back, the heirlooms wrapped up in and concealed by her ritual cloak. She noticed as she walked across the parking lot the three story house on the hill behind the motel. One light was on upon the second floor.

Hurrying inside the double doors of the small motel, she cast a glance over her shoulder once more before approaching the desk.

It seemed abandoned. Spider webs stretched between old knick knacks and a brass service bell that looked like it was at least a hundred years old. An old radio played Frank Sinatra, muted and poor quality for the times. Helena felt as if she had stepped straight back into the 1960s. Just as she was about to ding the bell, a man appeared from behind the wall of keys.

"Ah. Good evening," he said. He was handsome, Helena noted to herself. A few wrinkles, mousey brown hair with a couple greys, and facial hair in the form of sideburns and a trimmed mustache. He had a boyish innocence in his eyes, and a lopsided smile. He jutted out a hand, and Helena took it cautiously. Instead of shaking her hand, the man rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, then quickly took his hand back.

"A little bit late, yeah?" Helena maintained a polite smile.

"I don’t see how it’s your business.” His eyes widened.

"Of course! I do not mean to pry." He quickly got out a large book, and flipped it open. "For one, hm?"

"Yes please."

"Okie dokie." Frank Sinatra continued to drone, adding to the creepy ambience of the dated motel. As Helena continued to take in her surroundings in the macabre lobby, the man looked up at her. He studied her face with unblinking eyes, until Helena felt watched. She turned back to meet his gaze, but startlingly, he didn't break it.

"Sir?" she asked. The man nodded, breaking out of his trance.

"You said for one, eh? Good, good. Very good." He nodded, scribbling something in the book. "I am Copia, by the way."

"Hi," she responded, unwilling to give her name for purposes of anonymity if this man was ever questioned. She could never be too careful.

"A Sister?" Helena glanced down where Copia was looking to see she had forgotten to take off the rather prominent grucifix around her neck. Unable to deny it now, she nodded, and slapped down some cash. Copia produced a room key for her.

"Come out after you have settled in, hm? Please! I have dinner made for guests, complementary. Amuse bouches are out." He gave a little chuckle, nodding to himself. As much as Helena wanted to rest her eyes and shake off this unsettling encounter, she had to admit she was hungry.

"Thank you very much," she smiled. Copia gave another bow, and hurried off to busy himself with something else.

Fifteen minutes later, Helena walked into the eccentric lounge area of the motel, where finger sandwiches and wine was set out. Copia sat across from the coffee table, staring some more. She smiled at him, and he gestured forward.

"Go ahead cara, please. I have eaten already." Just as Helena was about take her first bite, she screamed, causing Copia to scream as well. There was a rat beside her on the bookcase— but the more she looked, she realized it wasn't moving.

"Ah. Oh. Don't be alarmed," Copia breathed, clutching at his chest. "They are my pet rats. I stuff them you see, to keep them with me after they die." He admired one, put it into his lap to stroke down the nose and fondle the whiskers.

"A strange hobby," Helena muttered. The more she looked around, the more taxidermied rats she saw, hung on the walls by their tails, bookcases, table.

"Could be worse. Some people don't stop at rats." Helena stared at him. Copia's mouth quirked up, and after a moment of awkward silence, he laughed. "Forgive my humor, cara mia. It is a bit dark sometimes."

He wasn't just whistling dixie. There was something... off, about the man. If Helena could put into words what was wrong with his disposition, she would. Superficially however, he appeared friendly as could be, so Helena continued to mirror his manners. Before she could strike up the next pleasant talking point that came to mind, Copia unfortunately thought of something first.

"Where are you going?" When Helena didn’t respond right away, Copia puts his hands up. "Spiacente. There I go again. You do not need to say, of course. I am only curious, cara. I will shut up."

"No," she said slowly. "Look. Unfortunately under less than ideal circumstances, I'm... off to find my own little slice of the world after doing something in hind sight, kind of stupid." It surprisingly felt good to relax a little, get that off her chest.

Copia waved his hand. "I have got you beat! Nothing could come close to me shaving off my mustache when I was twenty and, and having to draw it on for half of a year! You should have seen me!" Helena actually let out a real laugh at that. He laughs along with her. "Ah, si. It was funny. I was a sight to see, pathetic. I had not grown into my looks yet you could say, and that made things worse. But Mamma likes my mustache. She says it makes me look handsome." Helena's lips quirked up.

"I wouldn't disagree with your mother." Copia's eyes snapped up to hers, and she looked down. He cleared his throat, crossing one leg over the other.

"I would like to apologize for my behaviour earlier, Sister. Very rude," he said. "Staring at you so. Would you forgive this?" Despite how strange he was, Helena had to smile at his upturned lips. He was a little charming, in an odd sort of way. Maybe he was just awkward toward new people. That at least was relatable.

"You weirded me out a little. But it's okay."

"Bene. I can be a little bit, eh... strange." He chuckled with a self awareness Helena hadn't expected out of him, and she began to feel a little more comfortable, if not guilty for her initial coldness toward the poor man.

"I guess we all can at times," she replied, giving him a reassuring look.

"It is just...” He bunched up his pantleg, staring at a stuffed rat on the wall with frightening intensity, “You remind me of my mother. That is, what she used to look like."

"Oh," Helena nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, she is still with us! She lives in that house up behind the motel here. Her name is Elizabeth. Elizabeth Imperator."

"I thought you said your name was Copia," Helena mentioned. A few beats of awkward silence go by.

"Ah, si. Copia is a name I go by. It is because you see, our family name carries a... stigma, if you will. Around here, that is. My mamma, she is not well."

"I'm sorry," Helena repeated. Copia gave a slight shrug.

"In her head, you know? But it is only sometimes. She dreams of demons, hellfire, coming to take her away. She just goes a little bit mad." The man went back to stroking the taxidermied rat in his lap, smile ebbing away beneath that thin mustache as he focused back on Helena. "We all go a little mad sometimes, Sister." She stared at him. He stared back at her. The clock ticked on the wall beside them, and Perry Como wailed on the radio in the other room. The uneasiness began to creep back into Helena's stomach as Copia's charm wore off along with his social competence.

"I guess so," she finally said. Copia broke out of his uncomfortable fixation once again.

"Anyway," he patted his thighs. "Eh. More wine?" He got up, and headed over to get another bottle. "I do enjoy drinking it at night. My typical exercise is getting up for more!" He laughed, faltering once he realized his jokes had little effect anymore. He patted his thigh again as he returned. "Mamma raised her boy to have good strong thighs!" Helena took one more sip of the crimson drink. _Why did he keep mentioning his mother? He took the term 'mama's boy' farther than most. It was getting a little odd, just like him._ As he rested his hand on his leg after the slap, his hand began to crawl higher. It grazed awfully close to what Helena could only describe as his _interest_ in her. She coughed uncomfortably.

"Thank you for the wine and the food," Helena said. "I'm pretty tired." Copia stood.

“Are you su—?”

“I’m sure.” Copia extended a hand. She took it, and he placed a kiss on the back of it.

"Pleasant dreams, cara. I hope you find things comfortable here. I like to make sure guests feel very comfortable. I am comfortable here too." He held her knuckles under his thumb, breathing getting a little louder. She chanced a glance down to see that there was indeed a bulge in his pants. Helena tore her hand away, and nodded with what little manners she had left. She passed a potted palm, the walls around her painted an ugly pink. This place really was out of its time, and creepily so. She expected some guy to walk in with a cigar, a white suit and fedora with a blonde bombshell on his arm, demanding a honeymoon suite (if this place even had one). She wondered what Copia would look like in a black fedora and a white suit.

She uprooted that fantasy. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked down the vintage hallway toward her room. The fact that he knew her room number even though he worked here was disturbing, to say the least. But that was only her nerves getting the best of her. It had been a draining night, and now faced with the confusion of finding a creepy, odd man like that sexually attractive and _him_ finding her attractive obviously, her body was about ready to shut down.

As Helena undressed for her shower around 1 in the morning, the kiss on her knuckles preyed on her mind. She was unable to forget the tickle of his mustache his "mamma" claimed to love so much, and the feeling of his lips on her skin. They were cold, and she couldn't help but feel like the rest of him was... as if he was only playing the part of the charming host. His looks helped him do a good job of it. What really piqued Helena's curiosity however, was his mother. She had been mentioned 3 times during the conversation, and Helena wondered what she looked like. Did Helena truly look like this man’s mother? Why in the world was he aroused by her, then? Was this mother really mad, like Copia said? Where did he keep her to look after her? Would she put in an appearance tomorrow, or was she too frail to help her son run the motel?

Helena shook her head, letting those questions run down the drain with the shower water. Cleansing herself of the day's sins, she dragged her fingertips through her blonde hair, and let the warm water relax her. She could almost forget the better part of the Emeritus' fortune was sitting just outside the bathroom door.

\---

Thunder rumbled outside of the motel.

"She was only paying me a compliment, mamma..."

"That dirty girl was trying to seduce you! I was listening through the system. I heard what she said!"

"Really, it came from my own mouth, mamma--"

"She called you handsome!"

"It came from your mouth first, I know this!"

"She wanted to take you inside of her. You, the charmer. And you liked knowing that, didn't you? Knowing that she wanted you?"

Copia exhaled. "I—"

"You liked the thought of defiling that pretty girl while she begged you to do it. She would take my son inside of her with her rotten cunt, spoiled by so many before you."

"Mamma, please— I was a gentleman with her!"

"But you weren't in your mind.”

“I’m sorry, eh? I’m so sorry.”

“You're my boy. Hm? Dolce mia ragazzo, mm?"

"Always, mamma." Another crack of thunder exploded outside, and light rain began to splatter against the roof. The voices fell silent for a second, before Copia's rang out in a pleading whine. "No! No, I... I can't. Mamma please! She does not deserve this. It was my fault, per favore, I am the one to be punished!" 

More silence.

The rain grew louder. The grandfather clock down the hall counted every second. Downstairs, the old crooning radio shut off on its own as the power cut. The door opened.

Rain pummeled the windows as the figure stalked down the hall. Coming to the end of the row of doors, they stopped.

"It was not her fault! I am the sinful one."

"You are mamma's good little boy. Remember. I know what’s best."

Helena reveled in the warm water, dragging the soap bar between her breasts and down over her arms. It smelled like old lady soap, but at this point, she didn't care; she had sweat badly when making off with the riches she had stolen. Closing her eyes, she let the water run over the water beat down over her face like the rain beating down on her window. She didn't hear the door to her room open. Humming to herself an infernal hymn from the church she could never return to, she didn't catch the sound of the bathroom door opening either, a low creak that extended until the figure standing behind it could step in.

"Believe in one god do we," Helena sang softly to herself. "Satan almighty..." She tried to ignore the pit in her stomach, and replaced it instead with thoughts of where she could run off to with all this money. She could have anybody she wanted. Even someone like...

The blonde opened her eyes, considering it hypothetically. Copia didn't seem too experienced— in wooing, sure, but in the bedroom? She expected he very well could be a virgin. He did give off major creepy vibes... but she couldn't help imagining what it would be like to take his virginity from him. Show him what it's like to belong to a woman other than his mot—

The shower curtain ripped open, and Helena let out a startled scream. A shadowed figure stood before her, a butcher knife raised above their head. As they stepped further into the light, Helena realized in horror it was Copia, dressed in a grey wig pulled back in a ponytail and a black apron. She let out another scream, scrambling backward and losing her footing.

"It’s your fault that my Copia has been a bad boy," he spoke in an effeminate voice. He brought the knife down and stabbed her in the chest, blood oozing in rivulets down her stomach and between her legs. The force of his pulling the knife out of her splattered blood into her hair, turning the blonde a lethal pink. The crimson liquid flooded the tub, running down the drain as Helena toppled over the side, pulling the shower curtain down with her as she struggled to escape. Copia stood between her and the door, and he plunged the knife into her back, stabbing once, twice more, three times and four, until the white tiled floor was a bloody scene of carnage. Helena's finger twitched once, before she stilled, body lifeless at last. Copia looked down at her, cleaning the knife off on his black clothing and taking the shower curtain to wrap her up in. He leaned in to speak in the fresh corpse's ear.

"Didn't you know, bambina malvagia? A boy's best friend is his mamma."

**Author's Note:**

> I love my mom, but not that much, you get me?! Pro Tip from Sister Kissy: if you ever find yourself at a motel on the dark side of the road, you may wanna check just what kind of vacancy you're filling. Now if you'll excuse me, the Cardinal's knocking on my door, and I have to go hide. NOT in the shower. Something tells me he'll find me in there.
> 
> Join us tomorrow here in the Abbey graveyard, where the thrills continue... huahaha!!!


End file.
